


Affliction

by nikki_tikki



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Life Choices, The Dark Side - Freeform, falling from grace, idek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:38:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3563240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikki_tikki/pseuds/nikki_tikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mahanon becomes a Tyrant, eventually. So far it is all back story. Tragic most of it. And angry. Because I prefer my Inquisitor to be distraught and ugly and horrible. But there has to be some explanation first. </p><p>Soon there will be a tyrant that will make everyone hate him.</p><p>Edit: Uh. UH. There are a few chapters in progress...it's just hard trying to map everything out in my head and putting everything in order. When it comes to writing...I am a pleb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unknown Condition

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't really edit it all that much. A few word rearrangements that's about it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra's break up scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this as a separate thing, but decided to make it all one thing.

He had told Cassandra not to go, not to accept. He begged her. It was never in him to beg for anything.

“I have decided to accept. I…wanted you to know.” The words pierced through his being. “You are the Inquisitor. You are a symbol of hope and change to so many.” Mahanon wished he could believe her. He felt less a hero now than when he had awoken in a cold cell without a memory of how he had gotten there.

“Everything is about to change...you will be pulled in a hundred different directions.” She continued, slowly making her way backwards away from him. He stepped closer, trying to close the gap that she was attempting to make.

“Cassandra…please,” His voice sounded weak and his hands shook as he reached for hers. She hesitated as he interlocked his fingers into hers. He could feel his breath quickly escape from his lungs as he realized what was happening. She had made her decision. She chose the Chantry over him and it had crushed him. How could she do this, after everything they had been through together?

“Inquisitor…” He winced at the title.

“Don’t call me that,” His voice snapped a little. “That’s not what I am to you.”

“Isn’t it?” She replied, calmly but firm. She would not suffer being told what to do, and that was somehow attractive to him. It is what had drawn him to her in the first place. She was strong, and so sure of herself. She never took shit from anyone, especially him. He saw the same fierceness in her eyes that he saw when he had first expressed his interest in her. Back then it was little more than infatuation. He had thought, in his own sick and twisted desire, that perhaps he could have tamed her, but he soon found out she would not let it be so easy.

“You intend to properly court me? You of all people?” He remembered her expression, the surprise in her voice.

“Is that what you want?” He had asked carefully.

“No.” She snapped as she walked away, only to turn right around and admit that it was what she wanted. She thought that confessions of sappy poetry and candlelit dinners would scare him off, but it only excited him more. He granted her wishes, all of them. And he remembered the night they had spent in the glade together, the first time they shared intimacy. He couldn’t get enough of her. He didn’t think he ever would. The softness of her lips, the heat from her body as they were pressed against each other in the grass. He wanted every detail of her.

He had opened up to her; dared himself to care so deeply. He didn’t always know how to show it, but she knew, and she understood. In their own way he thought they loved each other, but now it seemed to have all been in vain. Anger from the pain blurred his thoughts.

“How can you do this?” He searched her face for any sign of remorse, but she stood there unmoved. “After everything, after…” he hesitated…”After all I’ve done for you.” She frowned as she lowered her gaze to the floor.

“This isn’t about us anymore, Mahanon. It has nothing to do with you…” Another stab. He didn’t know how much more he could take. She looked him in the eyes with pain. “I didn’t make this decision lightly. Do not think that you mean nothing to me. You are…more than I could have ever dreamed of.”

“But not enough to abandon this ridiculous decision.” He allowed the pain to show in his face. Their eyes met and he had hoped to hold her gaze, but her piercing expression made him look away. Had they not been on his balcony, he would have taken her right then and there. Perhaps drive some sense into her, persuade her to change her mind. If there was one thing he had control over her was in his bed. He recalled how many times he had made her moan and shiver with just the touch of his fingers. How he could whisper filthy things in her ear and have her beg him to take her.

But now it didn’t matter.

“You think this ridiculous? I can make a difference in the lives of so many. Make things better for the Chantry...”

“Is that all you care about?” He started to raise his voice.

“I care about fixing the chaos that has been tearing Thedas apart.” She replied with an equal tone.

“But why must that be your responsibility?”

“It is also your responsibility, as the Herald you have a duty-”

“I don’t give a shit about your damned Chantry.”

“Perhaps,” she said quietly. Already he regretted his words. Why did she make him feel such? “But you have been brought here for a reason, whether you believe it is a work of the Maker or not, you can’t deny that you are now in a position that you cannot abandon. I will not just stand on the side and do nothing. If I can make a difference as Divine, then I will do so to the best of my abilities. This is about the fate of the people of Thedas. I am willing to make the sacrifices necessary to make this happen.”

“Did you not think that perhaps some people are not willing to make such sacrifices?” he turned away from her. He could not meet her gaze anymore. It took all his will to not grab her and push her up against the wall and have his way with her.

“It is not your decision to make, Mahanon. It never was.” The blunt and emotionless reply made something in him snap. He grabbed her shoulders and shoved her roughly against the wall of the castle. Her expression showed a mix of surprise and disapproval, and she tried to resist, but he tightened his grip. He tried to kiss her but she turned away.

“Why?” he whispered in her ear. Her breathing quickened, but she did not answer. He got more desperate. He grabbed her face and turned it towards him. “Was defeating Corypheus not enough for you?”

“What kind of question is that?” She tried to wriggle free from his grasp, but he wouldn’t let her.

“You speak of duty and purpose as if it were something we have no control over. I did not ask to be here! I never wanted to be! But I stayed of my own will, not your Chantry’s or your Maker’s.” She glared at him and opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her. “Do not think me a fool, Cassandra. This whole damned thing was your decision. There are others that were considered for Divine, it didn’t have to fall to you. You can’t save Thedas.”

“Maybe I can’t,” she said. “But I will try nonetheless. I want this.” He could feel his anger surfacing. He punched the wall next to her and swore. She pressed both her hands against his chest and shoved him aside.

“Fuck, Cassandra, Why!”

“Because unlike you I want to make a difference! I am not selfish in my ability to do good.”

There was a sudden pain in his chest, anxiety that seeped into his bones. The truth hurt more than he had anticipated. He knew he wasn’t a good person, but hearing it from her was torture. Like a strategically placed cut, gushing out what was inside. The more she pushed, the worse it felt.

“What good is there in helping people that don’t deserve it?” He mocked. He didn’t want to, but he did.

“Maybe you don’t believe they deserve it, but I do. And there is nothing you can do to change that.”

He stepped towards her and grabbed her again, gentler this time. “That sounds like a challenge.” She let out a sarcastic snort.

“You may persuade my affections, but not my decisions.”

They stared at each other in silence. It started to rain, but neither of them moved even when their clothes were pasted to their skin. Eternity seemed to have passed. She was impossible to read and it angered him more. She always tried to do everything herself and he hated it. He wished he could get inside her head and take all the parts of her that was making her feel this need to play the hero. He wanted to be the only thing on her mind. It was selfish, but he didn’t care.

She finally broke the silence.

“I won’t be a distraction any longer. It will be easier to-”

“Is that what you think you are to me?” His chest felt like it was on fire. It was difficult to breathe. He dug his fingers into her shoulders, making her wince. If he let go now he knew he would lose her forever.

“I…I know…” he choked out the words, “…that I haven’t said things, things you wanted to hear. If that’s what you want I’ll say anything you want me to.” He knew he wasn’t making any sense.

“Mahanon…” She shook her head slowly.

“Cassandra please…” His voice shook with desperation. “I need…you…to stay with me. I love you,” her face reddened at his words. “…and I know, I probably don’t even know what that means, but I can learn. I want to…I just…I can’t…I can’t be what you want me to be…by myself…” Words stuttered, he couldn’t arrange them into anything but nonsense. “Don’t go…I’m begging you…” His voice fell to a whisper.

She gently placed her hands on his. Curling her fingers around his own, she took his hands off her shoulders and placed them at his side.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered, her shaky voice the only indication that she meant it.

Mahanon stood there, in utter defeat. Everything in him screamed to run after her, to physically stop her. But all he could do was let his silent tears fall as he watched her walk away.


	2. Redemption Rejected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon is confronted by a spirit of purpose.

The halla didn’t have time to bleat with its last breath, an arrow through its neck. Its brothers and sisters darted in every direction. Another dropped, followed by two more.

Mahanon took out his anger on the stupid animals. He hated them, even though he wasn’t with his Dalish clan any longer. He walked slowly to the first halla and ripped the arrow out. He looked at its lifeless body, blood seeping from the hole the arrow left behind.

“Doesn’t feel great does it,” he mumbled, recalling the events that took place the day before. Cassandra had left him to become the new Divine. Nothing he did or said could make her change her mind. It cut him deep, and left him bleeding worse than all the halla he had littered across the plain. It left him furious and broken. He tried to push the thoughts of her back and focus on his pathetic task.

The herd had stopped by the river about a mile ahead. He didn’t plan on chasing them much farther. He admitted killing hallas didn’t make him feel all that much better, but he chuckled at the thought of the nearby dalish hunters finding his halla body trail, enraged at whoever could do such a thing.

It was sick. Why did he do it? Probably the same reason why anyone does things they know they shouldn’t.

He stepped carefully. He wanted to get a good shot at the remaining Halla, too stupid and too naive to realize they were still being stalked. He raised his bow and drew back an arrow, but a blur in his peripherals caught his attention.

A golden halla. Horns perfectly curved, fur white as snow. It stared at him cocking its head sideways, as if asking the same question he was asking himself. Why do this?

Mahanon wasn’t sure what to do next, but all he knew was he had to go after it. But any sudden movement would risk a good shot. He slowly started to raise his weapon, drawing the arrow back ever so slowly, all the while staring at the golden horns.

It flared its nostrils, and stamped its hooves into the ground. Strange behaviour for a halla, they never stood their ground. It made him pause. It held its head high, as if it knew it was above its siblings. A part of him wanted to let it go. Such halla were very rare and revered by the dalish with an utmost degree. Killing one would be sacrilegious.

All the more reason to do it.

He drew and aimed as fast as he could, arrow flying towards the beast within half a second, but the halla was quicker.  It disappeared into the safety of the forest in a flash. The arrow landed where its head had been a second too late. Mahanon swore under his breath. He bolted into the forest after it.

What was the point? He could never catch it on foot, yet here he found himself running. If he really wanted to find it he should track its footprints, but he stumbled through the bushes, snapping branches and crunching leaves with every step. Every animal within a mile radius could hear him coming.

Off in the distance he heard a bleat. Loud and clear, high pitched and haunting, as if it wanted him to hear it. He turned towards the direction it came from. The path climbed a steep hill and at the top stood the golden halla. It raised its head and screamed its bleating cry, taunting him. It hurt his ears. He drew his bow again and fired, but again the halla disappeared before the arrow could find its target. He pushed himself to sprint up the hill, he had no idea where he was going, and he felt a familiar buzzing in his left hand, the anchor. It crackled as he entered the deeper parts of the forest. The veil was thinning here, but he ignored it. The halla called out to him again and he pushed himself more.

He stopped. Ahead was the halla, standing at what looked like a shrine old and unfamiliar. Mahanon was out of breath, but he shifted his gaze from the stag to the shrine. Confusion was an understatement. Why would a halla, a golden one for all that matter, want to lead him here? Why would it lead him anywhere?

He took a step forward, the halla didn’t even flinch. He took another step forward, then another. He took three full steps before the Halla took it’s turn to step backwards. Mahanon paused. The shrine was right in front of him, unfamiliar symbols carved into it. A stone figure bent over what looked like a broken eluvian, clutching its face in anguish.

The anchor sparked to life. He was no mage, yet he could feel something trying to push its way through the veil. He knew it was too dangerous to linger, alone and exhausted, but his wounded pride would not let him. This halla led him here on its own will. No, that was the stupidest thing he had ever heard of. Halla don’t know anything but eating and shitting.

He raised his bow again and aimed it at the Halla.

“ _I am not selfish in my abillity to do good..._ ”  Cassandra’s voice echoed in his head, causing him to drop his aim in alarm.

Mahanon whipped his head around. He could hear a whisper, faint and unintelligible. Again the anchor buzzed to life. It shook his whole arm and he had to hold it down, should it accidentally open a rift.

“ _Are you selfish?_ ” A new voice whispered in his ear.

He backed up, wildly searching in every direction. Not wishing to linger any longer, he quickened his pace, still walking backwards. His foot caught on a root and he fell backwards, hitting his head hard.  

“ _Do you have the ability to do good?_ ”

He thought he saw a flash in the broken eluvian.

“ _What is your purpose?_ ”

The Halla stepped forward, his vision was blurring. He grabbed his bow and sluggishly stood up. He blinked, trying to focus on not falling. When his vision cleared the halla was standing right in front of him. He could hear its deep breathing, see the light reflecting in its eyes. It stood there staring. He could not break it’s gaze.

A hunter and its prey, standing in the midst of a silent battle. Mahanon couldn’t move. His thoughts became more and more vibrant. He recalled flashes of his recent decisions. Choosing the templars, allying with the Wardens, killing Celene and Briala, all the while uniting Thedas under the banners of the Inquisition. Why was he having these thoughts now?

“ _Don’t fall._ ”

Flashbacks of his life in his clan, the abuse he endured by the Keeper and his First for questioning their ways. Facing harsh weather and creatures living in the forest, the anger that stirred up when his fellow hunters got killed by demons or dragged away by shemlens. The leaders, ignorant to how their way of life was crushing the people. He knew they sent him to spy on the conclave, hoping he would be captured or killed.

Instead, they thrust him into the path of overwhelming power, and when they called on him in their time of greatest need, he turned away from them. He left them all to die. And he wasn’t sorry. A snort from the Halla interrupted his thoughts.

“ _There is another way…_ ”

He remembered Cassandra, and how she made him forget all his anger. She helped him see that people were just as broken as he was. She wanted to help people. And he wanted to be like her, selfless and caring. But it was because of her selflessness to others that she had turned her back on him and walked away. She wanted to help others, but not him.

His anger came back in a rush, shattering the memories he held closest. All the times that they had shared being intimate, being so close to her, discovering every inch of her and wanting more; they were now spoiled with a newfound hatred. Every kiss seemed to taste sour in his memories, every confession of love that she whispered into his ears with her soft voice reeked of a pungent darkness. Every morning that he woke up with her at his side seemed to melt into a cauldron of lies and deceit. The one person who he trusted more than himself, the one he had offered whatever he had left of his previously broken heart; she turned around and gave it back, more broken and twisted than ever before. He had no desire other than to fall into this abyss he had been lurking on the edge of.

They call him the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, the one who brought down Corypheus and saved Thedas in its darkest hour, a chosen hero. But he would spit all these fancy titles and praises back in their faces.

“ _Please…_ ” He heard the voice say. A quiet crying lingered in his ears, yet he felt no pity.

He stared at the Halla, now with its head lowered, as if in defeat. He fixed an arrow to his bow and slowly drew back. Still it did not move.

“Rot in hell,” he said as he released the arrow.

It pierced the Hallas chest, the arrow striking through its heart at point blank. The halla crumpled to the ground,  bleating in agonizing pain. Mahanon starred as the blood poured out of the animal, leaking on the ground and onto his boots. The halla continued to wriggle in its pain.

A good hunter would put it out of its misery, but instead he turned away. Leaving the animal lying on the ground, crying out its last breaths. The farther he walked away from it the less he pitied, until he was an empty shell void of all compassion.

The halla breathed its last. The world was praising a hero, but instead it birthed a tyrant.

 

 


	3. Divinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra trying to cope with her new life as Divine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter seems boring, but it is necessary. It gets way darker eventually.

Cassandra looked in the mirror. No, that was not her name anymore. Divine Victoria. She softly touched her own face, watching her hand in the reflection. It was adorned with many rings, something she was not used to. Rings were never something to be worn in battle. But she was a soldier no more. She had traded her sword for scrolls of the Chant of Light, her armor for a long flowing robe, and her skills in battle for reciting sacred scriptures. She continued to stare into the mirror, wondering if she made the right decision.

 No! She told herself. She wanted this. This was the Maker’s will for her, or at least that was what she wanted to believe. If she couldn’t help the people of Thedas as a Seeker, then perhaps she could as Divine. Her thoughts drifted. She has left many things behind. Even her own name. The Clerics of the chantry encouraged her to forget her life before, it would only hinder her purpose to the Maker.

 But she could not forget him. Mahanon, her love. She winced as she recalled his face, the pain he must have felt as she told him of her decision. She almost gave in to his pleas, and it had taken all of her will to keep her emotions from her face. She could not look back as she walked away for the last time. If she did she would have ran to him. It had been scarcely a month and already she ached for his touch, to see his face one more time.

 “Divine Victoria, we are ready for the Chant.” Her thoughts were interrupted by Grand Cleric Euphemia.

 “Oh, yes of course.” Had she forgotten what time it was already? “I will be only a moment.”

 The Grand Cleric nodded and bowed as she exited. Cassandra didn’t feel comfortable around her. She was always pushing. When Cassandra had brought her ideas of change forward, the Grand Cleric had voiced her strong disapproval many times over. Many of the other clerics agreed with Euphemia, which made making any decree very difficult. Being Divine had it’s power, but only if the rest of the Chantry agreed with her. She had no one to confide in, no one to comfort her. She was alone.

 She shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of these thoughts. Standing up, she placed the Divine hat on her head. It was much smaller than the previous Divine hats, but still just as ridiculous. She straightened herself up and made her way to the Sanctuary.

 It seemed the whole of Val Royeaux had seated itself inside the Cathedral. All her sheep, and she was the shepherd. She walked to the podium, candles set up neatly in a row. Cassandra bowed to the statue of Andraste before turning to the congregation. So many eyes on her, waiting for her to guide them through the portion of the Chant she would recite. So many hoping that she would bring redemption and blessings. But of that she was beginning to doubt. She took a deep breath, gently removed a long match from its golden box, and carefully lit it. The tiny flame danced as she brought it to the first candle.

 “Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked, and do not falter,” her voice echoed across the silent sanctuary.

 Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked, and do not falter. The people chanted after her.

 “Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.” She lit the next candle. Again the people repeated.

 “Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker’s will is written.”

 Line after line she recited, lighting each respective candle, all the while the people repeating her words in the hope that if they chanted long enough, the Maker would hear them. Would he hear them? Was the Maker looking down on his children? Did he have a purpose for them, or did he leave them to the fate they deserved?

  _If the Maker cared for his children, then why did so many of his most faithful die at the conclave?_ Mahanon’s words creeped into her thoughts. She stuttered mid line, but recovered quickly. She could not afford to let such things drift through her head, let alone during the Chant.

  _If the Maker was real, wouldn’t he want to fix the world?_ Again his voice brought doubts in her mind. For thousands of years his children had cried out to him with no reply, not a single sign that he was there. No, Andraste had been heard by the Maker, he did care.

  _Andraste was killed, no Maker to rescue her._ Her death was necessary to bring her to the Maker’s side.

  _There is no Maker, your Chantry is false._

 “Victoria!” A harsh whisper snapped her back into focus. She blinked rapidly, staring back at the hundreds of eyes fixed on her. “The Canticle of Trials!” Euphemia’s voice hissed from behind her.

 While deep in her thoughts, Cassandra had completely stopped chanting mid stanza. Blood rushed to her cheeks as she struggled to remember where she had left off. What an embarrassment. The Divine forgetting the last of the canticles. How could she have let such a thing happen? She lit the last candle and recited the last phrase. She could feel Grand Cleric Euphemia’s piercing glare from behind her.

 The Chant finally finished, she prepared herself for the next part of the ceremony, determined to keep her thoughts from distracting her again. It took all of her will to stay concentrated, and by the time she was able to retreat to her chambers again, she threw herself on her bed, frustrated and angry.

 She chose this. She knew becoming Divine was not in her best interest, especially with Mahanon voicing his disapproval of the Chantry many times over. But she chose it nonetheless. She was helping people, she had to believe it. Even if it cost her happiness, her sanity, and the one she loved most.

 A harsh knock startled her, followed by her door being swung open. Euphemia stepped in, a cross look on her face.

 “This is unbecoming, Divine Victoria.”

 Cassandra groaned. “Now is not the time,” she plopped her face back into her pillow. The last thing she needed was a lecture from the Grand Cleric.

 “This is the fourth time this month that you have disgraced the Chant of Light during ceremony! Is there no respect for the position that you have been graced with??” Cassandra lay silent. She was in no mood to rebuttal.

 “Perhaps the decision was made wrong afterall,” Euphemia tried to threaten. She had been a running contestant for the Sunburst throne before Cassandra and Leliana were considered. Pushed to the title of Grand Cleric after the tragedy at the conclave, Euphemia had let it get to her head. There were many that supported her, but then Cassandra came and snatched the position from her. She had been bitter about the decision, but remained tight-lipped about it, until moments such as these graced her the opportunity to voice her disapproval.

 “You speak out of turn,” Cassandra snapped. “This position was granted to me by the Maker. I will not suffer anyone thinking otherwise.” She stood a good head taller than the older woman, and she stared down at her with condemning eyes.

 It was a never ending game between the two of them. The title she was given had granted Cassandra immense influence over most of Thedas, yet she was constantly being pushed back and forth by the grand clerics and revered mothers. The Chantry had held the same beliefs and customs for thousands of years, they would not let someone like Cassandra change everything they had worked so hard to set in stone.

 “Perhaps then, you will take your position of Divine more seriously. The people look to you to guide them, and if you cannot do so, they will begin to look elsewhere. And we cannot have that.” Euphemia crossed her arms, staring at Cassandra, as if challenging her.

 “I have taken this with the utmost importance, cleric. Do not test my position any further.” She sighed, walking back to her bedside. “There have been many things on my mind as of late. But I will serve the Maker, as he would have me do.” She turned back to Euphemia. “Not any cleric or mother or any other member of the Chantry. Do I make myself clear?”

 The Grand Cleric bore a smug smile. “Inescapably, your grace,” she said, with a hint of mockery, before bowing and finally leaving the room.  

 Cassandra shut the door and locked it. Taking a deep breath, she changed out of her robes into something more comfortable. She went to her bedside, reached her hand underneath to a small nook in the frame, and pulled out a small box. She sighed in relief as she pulled out her old books that Varric has given her. _Hard in Hightown, Swords and Shields_ , and _The Champion_. The titles filled her with a sense of peace, even though she had read them countless times over.

 Usually she would say a lengthy prayer before going to sleep. But tonight she would allow herself to indulge in the narrated lives of heroic characters, hoping that they would give her the reassurance that she had made the right decision.


	4. Unrighteous Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon is brooding. And gets in a fight with Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a hard time writing this one because boring. But bar fights are sort of fun.

“Inquisitor?” A harsh knock woke Mahanon. His pounding hangover matched the sound of fists on his door. He groaned, ignoring the voice, which he guessed to be Cullen.

“Inquisitor, please. There are important things that require your attention!” Cullen insisted.

“Piss off!” Mahanon threw a stray book at the door, his head didn’t appreciate the sound that  followed.

“Enough of this! You’ve been ignoring your duties for weeks now. The other advisors are growing restless at your absence.”  

“I said piss off!”

The loud thump of Cullen kicking the door was immediately followed by the sound of him yelping in pain.

“Maker’s balls!” Cullen cursed. His limping footsteps grew fainter.

Lying on the floor, Mahanon curled up, cradling his head in his arms. He tried to recall his night of drinking. Nothing of note crossed his mind, it was all a blur. He peeked one eye open and surveyed his room. Almost everything was on the floor: books, papers, decorations. Clothes were ripped out of drawers, blankets thrown off the bed. A streak of light peeked between the curtains.  Mahanon moaned and rolled over.

He lay there for what seemed like ages. He felt dizzy. Any sudden movement and he would have thrown up whatever was left in his stomach. He was a mess. He had drank so much in the last couple of weeks, trying to drown out everything. But it never lasted. He knew his newfound habit didn’t make the responsibilities, or the pain, go away. Eventually he had to wake up.

Cassandra. Again his thoughts drifted to her.

“Bitch, leave me alone…” he mumbled, even though that was the last thing he wanted. He clenched his fists. The numbness was beginning to wear away, his memories of her becoming more vivid. Soon he found himself in a dream, a reflection.

“I can’t believe you escaped before me,” he remembered her voice at Halamshiral. “A fat count insisted to talk about soup for fifteen minutes.” She shook her head.

Celene had been murdered and Gaspard was announced emperor, at Mahanon’s preference. The events that followed had exhausted him. He stood on a balcony overlooking Val Royeaux, wishing to be away from all the commotion.

“We can return to Skyhold whenever you like. The sooner the better.” Cassandra leaned on the edge of the balcony, staring at the moon that was slowly rising. He had wondered what she would look like in a dress, but was content to eye her body even in the drab uniforms that Josephine insisted they all wear. She had a marvelous dip in her back as she leaned, leading down her ass and continuing down her legs. Perhaps it was best that they leave as soon as possible.

“Is something wrong?” Her voice expressing concern, eyes searching him for an answer. He smiled.

“Things went according to plan for once, I couldn’t be happier,” he said mischievously. He continued to indulge himself in her appearance.

“It is a bit of a surprise, isn’t it? Still, we will need to put the soldiers at Skyhold on alert. Better to be safe.” She turned to leave. He chuckled, she was always so concerned with duties.

“Wait,” he said softly, taking her hand. “There is one thing we must do before we go.” She raised an eyebrow questioningly. “May I have this dance, Lady Cassandra?” He bowed flirtatiously.

“A dance?” she gawked. “After all we’ve been through tonight?” He pulled her close to his body, his hand grazing the curve on her back, his thoughts tempting him to go lower.

“Can you think of a better way to celebrate?” He whispered in her ear. She smirked.

Slowly they danced, limited to the few moves Dorian had attempted to show him previously. Cassandra laughed at him, and he laughed at himself. He knew he looked ridiculous.

“I suppose this isn’t terrible,” she said, leaning her head on his chest. He kissed her forehead.

His dream suddenly took him to kissing her all over, their limbs intertwined. Her breath was hot on his bare skin, fueling his need to touch every inch of her. Her hands drew marks on his back as she pressed herself closer, trying to get more, feel more. He answered her with his body, bringing them closer with every movement, every thrust. He could feel himself getting close to a sensuous end. Her moans. Her desperation. Her need. She drove him to the edge, and he was about to plunge himself into-

“Inquisitor!” Cullen’s voice startled him awake, followed by more pounding on the door. Mahanon slowly clenched his fists, angry that his fantasy was interrupted, especially unfinished. The Maker had better be ready, because he was going to murder the commander.

“Are you sure about this?” A deeper voice joined in. Iron Bull. That was two souls for the Maker.

“The Inquisitor has locked himself in his room and refuses to do his duty. He’s been like this for the majority of the week. He can’t keep up like this,” Cullen continued to complain.

“Oh boy,” Iron Bull sighed. “Here, I’ll get him.” The door handle jiggled roughly. Mahanon rolled over and put his pillow over his head, unsuccessfully trying to drown out the noise. The door handle made a snapping noise and the door swung open. Iron Bull walked over, Cullen hiding behind him.

“I’m going to kill both of you,” Mahanon mumbled.

“Let’s cure that hangover first,” Bull said, grabbing him and hoisting him over his shoulder.

“Aaghhhhh!” Mahanon yelped loudly as he bounced against Bull’s back. Every step down the stairs made his head explode. “Fucking put me down!” He demanded.

“If you say so, boss.” Bull let go, letting him fall to the floor. He lay there, groaning. He wished the world and everyone in it would burn.

“Inquisitor Lavellan,” Josephine peeked her head around a door frame. “Is there something I can get you to relieve your current discomfort?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it Josie, I got this.” Bull interrupted. He grabbed Mahanon’s arm and dragged him to his feet. He stumbled forward, falling. “Let’s go, boss.”

Bull eventually helped him stumble to the tavern. Mahanon almost threw up the concoction that was presented to him. It tasted like someone had ground up chunks of fish, mixed it with dirt, and tried to sweeten it with rotting honey. He pushed the cup away, covering his mouth with his hand.

“C’mon boss, it’ll perk you right up.” Bull sat next to him, pushing the cup back in front of him.

“No,” Mahanon tried to get up out of his chair, only to be roughly shoved back into it.

“Don’t make me force you, cause you know I will.”

“I’m not drinking this shit-” a massive hand clapped around his head, covering his nose. Mahanon tried to wriggle out, but Bull’s grip was cemented. He struggled to breathe without opening his mouth, all the while trying to desperately pry the giant hand off his face.

“You know you can’t win this, boss,” Bull laughed. Finally out of breath, Mahanon gasped for air, followed by chunky fluid forced down his throat. He coughed and gagged, but Bull tipped the glass more. His throat burned as he swallowed. Instantly his head cleared and his stomach settled.

“Well, you should have drank a little more, but I guess that’ll do.” Bull said, taking his hand back. Mahanon let his head fall onto the table.

“What did you give me?” Mahanon asked, hesitantly.

“Trust me, boss. You’re better off not knowing.”

“That’s comforting.”

“He’s all yours, Curly.” Bull stood up, allowing for Cullen to take his place. Mahanon hadn’t noticed him standing there the entire time.

“Inquisitor-”

“I don’t care for anything you have to say right now,” Mahanon interrupted him. “Just leave me be.” He leaned over the table and buried his head in his arms. Cullen sighed in frustration.

“You cannot sit here and wallow. This is pathetic.” The commander crossed his arms.

“You would know pathetic.”

“I know you have responsibilities that require immediate attention. You’ve been in and out of this filthy tavern for weeks. You drink yourself into drunken stupors and are bedridden for days. Do you not call yourself Inquisitor? Because last I looked the real Inquisitor attended to his duties.”

“This isn’t your damned business,”

“It is when it concerns the wellbeing of the Inquisition. Hundreds of lives depend on you, and here you are moping like a sad pup.”

“Your concerns don’t bother me right now.”

“Dammit all, Lavellan!” Cullen slammed his fist on the table. Mahanon glared at him. “You’ve been this way ever since Cassandra was chosen for Divine, weren’t you?”

Mahanon stood up, fists clenched.

“I will not tell you again, Commander. This is none of your fucking business.”

“She’s just a girl for pity’s sake, you need to-” Cullen’s words were cut short. Mahanon slammed his fist into the commander’s nose, knocking him to the side. He stumbled over a chair, slamming into one of the tavern girls. Mahanon grabbed him and landed another punch.

“Shut the fuck up!” He let his fists fly in a rage, but the ex-templar was not helpless. Cullen blocked his punch, and kicked at his ankles, tripping him. They wrestled on the floor, Mahanon quick and fluid, Cullen rigid and bold.

“Hey! Enough!” Iron Bull came crashing back. He grabbed them both by their collars, dangling them on either side of him. “You wanna fight? Take it outside.”

“Ugh, put me down!” Cullen demanded. Mahanon attempted to pry himself loose, with no avail.

“You two are nothing but whiny kids, man up and settle this dispute like adults.” Bull let go and dropped them both on the ground, still standing between them.

“Maker’s breath, Inquisitor.” Cullen said, wiping dust off his feathered cape. “What do we have to do to get through to you?”

“Fuck off. I will assume my duties when I see fit.” Mahanon said, standing up. “And when I say it’s none of your business, I mean that it is none of your fucking business. Now get out.”

The commander clenched his fists, but turned and stormed out of the tavern.

“You know, boss, he has a point. Things are getting pretty bad on the fronts.” Bull said, handing him a drink. Mahanon winced at it. “Don’t worry, this one is normal.”

Mahanon sighed, gulped down the whole glass, and readied himself. The world awaited its Inquisitor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come soon.


	5. Delusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The voices of the well show Mahanon a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record, the elvish that I put in here is all really rough translation. Translations in the end notes. 
> 
> Listened to "I Cannot See His Color" by James Newton Howard. (found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4CrkQWFHm-8 )

Mahanon stood on a ledge, overlooking some sort of camp. He couldn’t recall how he had gotten there or why. His memory was fuzzy. Something about the atmosphere seemed familiar yet distant. Suddenly the landscape twisted and reshaped itself. This was the fade. He was dreaming.

Normally he would have woken up soon after realizing this, but inaudible whispers kept him there. The voices from the well, it seemed, were trying to show him something. It piqued his curiosity. He stepped down to the edges of the camp, watching as figures began to appear, unaware of his presence. He walked around, the figures taking shape. Elves. Dalish elves, recognizable by the vallaslins branding their faces.

“Where is she?!” A voice suddenly shouted from behind him. He turned just as an ethereal figure walked through him, sending icy shivers down his spine.

“Keeper! Where is Menale?! Where is my wife!! I need to see her!” The man frantically asked again, his bow still in hand from his hunt. Mahanon followed. A crowd started to gather behind him. An older elf, the Keeper, stood solemnly in front of his tent, his First beside him. A sad expression on his face, he leaned against his staff, weary.

“I’m sorry, Aldaer.” The Keeper said quietly to the bewildered hunter. “She didn’t make it.” Silence tore through the camp.

“Creators...no...this can’t be…” Aldaer fell to his knees.

“It was a risk she was willing to take, da’len. Her bravery allowed your child to survive.” The First stepped forward, carrying a squirming bundle. Aldaer did not look up, his shoulders shaking, tears falling as he sobbed into his hands.

“He is quite healthy, Aldaer. A miracle considering your wife’s condition.”

“Take it away…”

“What?” The First gawked, still holding the wrapped baby.

“Aldaer, this is your son…” The Keeper said slowly.

“No...I don’t want it…”

“Menale fought to keep the baby alive, Aldaer."

"That thing killed my wife..."

"Her sickness killed her. Stand up and take responsibility of your own." The Keeper started to raise his voice.

Aldaer stood slowly. The First held the infant towards its father, who just stared.

"He needs a name still." The First said quietly. Aldaer started to shake, trying to hold back his tears. He reluctantly took the swaddled baby, who was starting to cry from the commotion.

He looked at his son with dull eyes, no expression but grief.

"What do you call something that has taken everything away from you..."

"Do not curse the child with something he was not responsible for. Life without his mother will be difficult enough. He needs a father who will be strong. Menale would expect that of you."

Mahanon stared in confusion. There were many things that he saw in his dreams as of late.. He heard stories of powerful demons luring people in their dreams, showing them things that weren’t real. Tempting them with lies. He saw it when he faced the Nightmare in the fade.

But this was different. It was a memory, clear and focused. How accurate it was, Mahanon was not sure. The voices did not answer the important question: whose memory he was seeing.

“Why am I here?” He asked without a response.

The clan started to disperse, leaving Aldaer standing with his child in his hands, alone. He was muttering so quietly Mahanon had to stand right next to him to hear.

“...did you have to do this. I never wanted this. You knew the risk, you knew it would separate us, yet still you did not yield. And now I am left with nothing.” The baby had ceased his crying at the sound of his father’s voice, eyes now softly closing as he started to fall asleep.

“I look at you now,” Aldaer continued. “And I see nothing but regret. And that is what you shall be called. My Regret. Mahanon.”

The child’s eyes shut.

A wave of sickness suddenly hit Mahanon as he realized, this was his memory. There he stood, next to the flickering image of his father, listening to the man trying to wish away his son’s existence.

The dream started to shift and change, images of his father trying to take care of his son flashed before him. The man tried to calm the crying infant during the night. He complained about the lack of sleep. Another passing image of his father trying to feed him, to no avail. The child refused. He cursed at him, wishing he had never been born.

Mahanon didn’t know how to feel. More images past. The child grew. His first steps taken should have induced joy into a father, but instead Aldaer cursed. He had to keep a better eye on the child, watching in case he wandered too far.

“Why must you insist,” he mumbled under his breath as he carried the child to the river to bathe. Mahanon watched himself as an infant. Tiny hands reaching for his father’s face, smiling at the man who would never smile back. Aldaer swatted him away.

Mahanon never knew this man, but the gut-wrenching feeling of rejection still overcame him.

He watched with a growing pain as his father carefully put him in the river, washing away mud on his child’s skin, pulling twigs from his hair, all the while muttering why he even bothered.

“Atto!” A tiny voice squeaked. Aldaer froze at the sound. Atto. Father. He never prepared for this. His hands shook as the child repeated the word with pride.

“Atto, atto, atto!” He splashed the water with his child hands.

“Silence!” He grabbed the child roughly. Mahanon watched his child self start to cry at the harshness of his father’s voice. “Len'alas lath'din! I never wanted you!” Tears fell down the man’s face. “I had everything before you took it away from me. I curse you! I hate you! I wish you had died in her place!” Mahanon watched in horror as his father suddenly shoved his son’s head underwater. The child wriggled underneath, trying to gasp for air.

Mahanon could not look away. He fell to his knees. He watched helplessly as his father tried to drown him, his own son. Tears welled in Mahanon’s eyes. Pain erupted in his chest as anxiety swept over him.

“Why…” he cried softly. Watching, wondering why a father would ever hate his son so.

Suddenly, as if realizing the horrific nature of his actions, Aldaer let go. A blood-curdling scream erupted from the child’s mouth, echoing in the trees. It rang in Aldaer’s ears.

“What have I done…” the man started to weep. “I cannot...I cannot!” He shouted. The realization of what he had just attempted to do overcame him. “I am sorry, my son. I could never love you, even if I wanted to. I could never be the father you need…” He took a knife from his belt. The child continued to shriek.

“I’m sorry…” Aldaer cried. He lifted the dagger to his neck and slit his own throat. Mahanon watched as his father killed himself, his body slumping next to his child. Blood seeped into the river.

“No…” Mahanon could barely speak. He wrapped his arms around himself as he fought back the mixed feeling of nausea and the exploding pain in his chest. He knew it wasn’t his fault, yet he could not convince himself. His father meant what he said. The one person that should love a child unconditionally tried to wish his existence away, tried to erase him from his life.

He heard shouting in the distance. The clan must have heard the child screaming. Hunters came running into the clearing to see what the commotion was. Mahanon only half paid attention to what they were saying, his eyes still fixed on his dead father’s body.

“What do we do?”

“Bring the child to the keeper.”

Mahanon felt the dream fade. His eyes snapped open, and he found himself lying on his bed, tears streaming down his face. He could not erase the images from his mind. The anxiety and nausea caught up to him. He stumbled out of bed and barely made it to the window, puking into the bushes below. He fell to the floor, breathing heavy, trying to remain steady.

“It was just a dream,” he attempted to convince himself.

 _Banal telanadas. Era mana su. Banal theneras._ The voices said it was not so.

“It can’t…” He curled up in the corner of the balcony, trying to drowned out the whispers. This was not the first moment he wished Morrigan drank from the well instead. It had given him knowledge to defeat Corypheus, but only now he started to see the cost. Things he wished he never knew started to come to light. Dreams of the past, his and others he did not know, played in his mind against his will. Sometimes they echoed loudly, other times they were silent. Ignorance, he wished, would be the sweetest of bliss in this moment.

 _Dar’Misu banal, da’assan. Emma shem’nan_.

“Shut up!” he covered his ears in a vain attempt to stop the voices in his head. “I don’t want this! Stop showing me these things!”

 _Ma emma harel. Ir’uthen_.

The voices turned to whispers he did not understand, then went silent. He remained curled on the balcony the rest of the morning, wishing that he never drank the vir’abelasan. Wishing that he never became the Inquisitor. Wishing that his father had been successful in his attempt to erase him from this world.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atto - Tolkien elvish word for "father" because there was literally nothing else.
> 
> Len'alas lath'din - "Dirty child that no one loves."
> 
> Banal telanadas. Era mana su. Banal theneras - "Nothing is inevitable. The story of the past happened. It is not a dream."
> 
> Dar’Misu banal, da’assan. Emma shem’nan - "You are not a weapon that acts alone, little arrow. My revenge is swift."
> 
> Ma emma harel. Ir’uthen. - "You should fear me. I am eternal."
> 
> Also for the record "Mahanon" does not mean anything specific. "Ma" does mean "my" so I just made the rest up to fit the story. All you lore gods out there please don't hate me for my terrible use of this broken language.


	6. Arrows.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon and Sera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wondered how Mahanon's relationship with Sera would be since I don't normally bring her on important missions in game.

The sun peeked over the mountains, melting the last of the frost. The breeze tousled Mahanon’s hair as he sat on the tower roof, overlooking Skyhold. He hadn’t slept, still weary from the dreams haunting him. Trying to convince himself they weren’t real proved pointless. Even in that moment, the voices whispered to him. Quiet, almost soothing, he heard the words of ancient beings, long since dead, but alive. It frightened him that his thoughts were not entirely his own. But at the same time, it intrigued him. So many things they knew, that could make him even stronger. Already he learned new things about the anchor that he didn’t know were possible.

Perhaps there was more that he could obtain. More power that could make him rise higher. Higher than all the kings, the rulers of empires. Higher than the Divine herself. How he wanted to be able to make her bow down to him, to dismantle what she hoped to achieve. To bring down the Chantry, to bring down the Maker.

Mahanon shook his head. From his latest experiences, the nightmares, the unstoppable whispers plaguing his mind, he didn’t think it very likely. He thought of the words the Sentinel last said.

_No boon of Mythal was ever granted without cost_. And what was the cost? His thoughts? His mind? His sanity?

_The Vir’Abelassan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend_. At the time, Mahanon shrugged off the words, but now. He wished he heeded the ancient elf’s warning. What threat, he thought, could the Well pose, belonging to a god who had deserted them?

Except Mythal hadn’t. All his life he was taught the gods had abandoned them, locked away in a realm unreachable. But to have seen her, trapped in a mortal vessel, hearing her whispers in his mind, watching helplessly as she controlled his own body against his will. It was all too real, and perhaps too much for him to comprehend.

“Droopy ears says what!”

“What?!” Mahanon snapped, startled. He turned to see Sera standing a few feet away, bursting into laughter.

“You fell for it! There’s a first.” She came and sat next to him. “Thought you’d be here. Nice view in’it?”

Mahanon didn’t answer. He just continued to look forward, unphased by the sunlight.

“You know Cullen-smucky-face was lookin’ for you. Said somethin’ ‘bout doing your duty or wha’ever. I figured it was all boring stuff, so I told him you were picking some deathroot to stick in his drink. He didn’t like that too much.” She giggled.  

Mahanon sighed heavily. He wasn’t in the mood to talk, but her presence seemed to relax him a bit. She didn’t care for the politics or the “big people stuff” as she put it. Sera was simple, and Mahanon liked simple. Especially now that things had become so complicated, so demanding of him. Even in moments like these, when she would not be able to understand what he was going through, he was glad she sought him out.

“So what’s got you all humdrum?”

“Just tired,” he replied quietly.

“I’ve seen you plenty tired before...Come to think of it, I’ve seen you around plenty before, but now you just...disappear. Is the Cassandra thing still big with you?”

“Sera…”

“What? Everyone knows what happened. You flirted, she said no. You flirted some more, gave her flowers and shit, she said yes. You bumped bits, then she became Divine, and left.”

“Thank you, I thought I had forgotten,” Mahanon sneered.

“Now you remember, so just forget about it. What? Don’t look at me like that! It made better sense in my head…”

Mahanon shook his head, trying not to chuckle. Sera really was daft sometimes.

“You wanna know somethin’? I really didn’t like you at first. Got that thing on your face and all, I thought you were one of those elfy people with the sticks up their asses. Never listening to, or caring really, about anyone but other, face painted, twangy ears. But you’re different. You don’t care about all that. And you’re not the stuffy I’ve-got-all-the-power-so-I-step-on-little-people type either.”

“So what am I then?” Mahanon asked half jokingly, but a part of him still wondered.

“Normal,” Sera said, gazing at the horizon. Mahanon pondered her answer. If only she knew.

“You really think so? Even with all that’s happened?”

“What, you mean the weird shit with the abelas elves and Coriphe-titty? I ‘unno, I guess. I mean, you’re not gonna pop a bunch of demons out your ass are you?”

“Decidedly not.”

“Well then, I say you’re normal to me.”

Mahanon had to smile. They sat in silence for a few moments. Sera took a deep breath, sighing with contentment.

“Hey!” she said after a minute or two. “You wanna go hang noodle-hair's underpants on all the Inquisition banners again? That was funny, he was right pissed off!” She giggled.

“Maybe later,” Mahanon replied, yawning.

“You’re no fun. I know! How about we switch all the doors the wrong way ‘round, so whenever someone goes to open one, the handle is on the other side. It’s brilliant!”

“That would take too long. And besides, how would you do it without anyone seeing you?” He smirked at her.

“Ugh, why you gotta think so hard?” She crossed her arms, pouting.

“How about some drinks, then perhaps we can scheme up something devastatingly mischievous for later.” Mahanon stood, holding out his hand to help her up.

“Alright, but we better think up somethin’ big,” she said, knocking his hand away. They made their way across the roof and over to the ladder leading back down to the battlements. She lightly pushed him aside.

“I’m going first, don’t want you taking a peek at my ass on the way down.” She sneered, poking him hard. Mahanon laughed.

“So you get to look at mine? That’s not entirely fair,” He said, giving her a flirty smirk.

“Wha’ever. You don’t even have an ass to look at. You know I like ‘em schooshy. You’re just a bunch o’ bones.”

“I have a perfectly decent ass, thank you very much,” Mahanon crossed his arms.

“Ha! You wish!” Sera laughed, slowly descending down the ladder. “You comin’ or what?”

“Momentarily, just enjoying the view from up here,” he replied, winking at her.

“Huh?” she said, confused. Mahanon pointed at his chest. Her eyes went wide as she looked down at her own chest. Her shirt unbuttoned far enough to display a decent amount of flesh.

“Wah? You little shit!” She gasped as she tried to button her shirt back up with one hand..

“Too late,” he laughed. “Can’t have it your way all the time,” he continued laughing as he took his turn down the ladder.

“That’s it, I’m gonna hang _your_ underpants on all the banners now!” She exclaimed, punching his shoulder as he jumped off the ladder.

“Fair enough,” He said, rubbing his shoulder. “Race to the tavern?”

“Loser is buying!”

They both bolted down the stairs and across the courtyard, knocking a merchant’s set up of wares and interrupting a military drill.

“Sorry!” they both screamed as they hurdled over obstacles and bumped into people, laughing all the way to the tavern.

Through all the crazy things, he thought, perhaps it is nice to have someone to call a friend.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out they are the best of friends. Two elves who hate elves, are both archers, and both hate magic. Yep. Best of friends. For now...
> 
> Listened to "Sera Was Never" from the Inquisition soundtrack. Was obvious...found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CuCIC4ox6mo


	7. Meeting Adjourned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon gets into a whole heap of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight scenes are super hard...
> 
> Hope this chapter isn't too long.

Mahanon leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. His contact shifted nervously. The man, who introduced himself as Jayden, had promised his employer would meet them in Denerim two days earlier. He had yet to show up.

“So I am to believe this is some level of importance,” Mahanon mocked.

“My master has a most intriguing proposition, I assure you.” He took another huge gulp from his drink.

“You said that already. Two days ago.” Mahanon tapped his fingers on the table. “Perhaps I would be less inclined to get up and leave if I knew what manner this request was.”

“Please, Messere,”  Jayden squirmed in his chair. “If I knew what my master would ask of you I would have said. I am but his messenger.”

Mahanon sighed. He looked around for his companions. They were scattered around the tavern, still within calling distance in case they were needed. At this rate, he didn’t think there was a point in dragging them along with him. Nevertheless, he kept tabs on their whereabouts just in case.

Varric sat with a crowd around him telling absurd stories of their mishaps and adventures. Dorian sat among the listeners, surrounded by women ogling over him. He was no doubt basking in their compliments and flattery. He looked over at Mahanon and winked. Mahanon just chuckled and shook his head. The only member who was not present was Sera, likely doing some mischief with her Red Jennies.

“Can I get you another drink, Serrah?” one of the tavern girls asked, taking their already empty cups.

“No, that’s alright,” Mahanon replied, waving her off with his hand.

“I shall have another,” Jayden called after her. The girl nodded, smiling as she walked away.

“If you keep drinking at this rate you won’t be fit for your master’s arrival.” Mahanon drummed his fingers on the table as he watched Jayden down the last of his cup.

“He shall be here soon,” the man mumbled.

“We must have different definitions of soon.” Mahanon raised his eyebrow, annoyed at the man’s very presence.

“I, again, greatly apologize on my master’s behalf, I assure you he is always punctual.”

“Well then, he shall have no issues compensating me for my waiting.”

“No, I shall not,” another voice interrupted. Mahanon turned to see a man approaching their table. He was tall, wearing clothes of fine Orlesian make. His nose turned up as if disgusted at everyone beneath him. Jayden scrambled to his feet, taking his master’s cloak off his shoulders.

“I am Lord Renold,” he bowed. “Please, allow me to apologize for being late.” The man’s entitled demeanor made Mahanon even more agitated. He continued to drum his fingers on the table. “I had the misfortune of mercenaries attacking my party halfway here. Bloody brutes. It was a bit of a messy situation, lost half my caravan. Luckily I was the smarter and had them, more or less, out manouvered.”

“Glad to hear it,” Mahanon sneered. Renold proceeded to sit down, setting his feet on the table. Mahanon could feel his eye twitching in disgust.

“Jayden, get me a drink. Something strong, like brandy. Would you care for a drink, Inquisitor?” Renold gestured to Mahanon.

“I’ve had many, thank you.” He replied, trying to hide his agitation.

“Ah, I see.” He lowered his feet, rubbing his pointed beard. “Again I apologize for my lateness. But allow me to address the reason why we are both here.”

“I’m listening intently,” Mahanon said in monotone.

He sat for what felt like hours while the man babbled about setting up his shops within the Inquisition, promising portions of his profit, and boasting about all his vast wealth and possessions. The longer he kept rambling the less patient Mahanon felt. The Inquisition had more than enough finances streaming into its treasury, the man was going to have to do better than that to appease him.

“So, other than financial intentions, which you described intently, what else do I have to gain from this deal?” Mahanon finally interrupted him. Renold gawked a bit before taking a big gulp from his third drink.

“Well, Messere. I have a lot of influence in Tevinter. I am part of the Magisterium, more or less.”

“More or less?” Mahanon could feel anger starting to rise.  

“I am apprenticed to a powerful Magister, you see, and he has promised me a seat within the Imperium. So I can assure you that very soon I can be your voice. After all the Inquisition does not reflect very positive views in Tevinter, what with you allying with the Qunari and all.”

“The alliance with the Qunari is what is keeping them out of the Imperium. Are you saying I should just let them continue their assaults on your people?” Mahanon crossed his arms.

“No, of course not, Inquisitor.” Renold replied, his voice cracking. Mahanon leaned towards him. Their faces inches apart, he threatened the man with his gaze.  

“So I’ll ask again,” he said quietly. “What will I gain from this?” His patience was at its end.

“Inquisitor, I already-”

Suddenly the sound of fighting outside interrupted them. They both stood up to see a group of men, dressed in dark robes, engaging Lord Renold’s men.

“Vishante kaffas!” the man cursed. “It’s those damn mercenaries!” He stood up quickly, grabbing his things. “Won’t you do something!” Renold yelled.

The door suddenly crashed open, dark robed men rushing in.

Mahanon was just about to pull out his bow when a magic shock wave knocked them both into the wall. Screams echoed across the tavern as the two parties engaged. Someone threw a smoke bomb, filling the small room with thick smoke. Mahanon coughed, trying to feel his way to the nearest window. He heard a yelp beside him, followed by the sound of glass smashing. Suddenly rough hands grabbed him, throwing him out the window and onto the street.

Mahanon hit the ground hard, rolling into a pile of crates. As he tried to stand, he was suddenly pulled back into them.

“Protect me!” Renold begged him, clawing at him with desperate hands. “He is coming for me!”

“Get off me,” Mahanon said, roughly shaking the man off him. “Who is?!”

“HIM!!” Renold pointed furiously.

A shadowy figure approached, emerging from the smoke. A dark hood obscured the view of the man’s face, a giant sword hung on his back. Mahanon slowly stood, grabbing his bow. The figure stopped a few feet away, then pulled the hooded cloak off. Mahanon saw he was no man, but an elf. Long, twisting tattoos covered almost every part of his body.

“Step away from him, and I won’t have to kill you,” the elf said calmly, his voice low and rough.

Surprised at the elf’s ignorance, Mahanon chuckled, shaking his head.

“Do you even know who I am?”

“I don’t care,” the elf said, pulling the giant sword off his back. “Step away or join him in death.”

“I will give you whatever you want, just keep him away from me!” Renold hissed.

Both elves eyed each other, watching the other’s movements. Mahanon knew he had the advantage with the distance between them. The strange elf would have to set a few strides before reaching them, and by then he would have put an arrow in his head. Mahanon inched his fingers towards his arrow quiver.

The elf sighed, “Suit yourself.”

His arm tattoos started to glow, the light gathering in his hand. Mahanon felt a pulse in the air, making the anchor crackle in his own hand. The two elves circled, both their arms glowing. An impasse.  

All of a sudden, the elf rushed forward at unnatural speed. Mahanon barely raised his bow before the elf had already crossed the gap between them. The arrow missed his head. Mahanon side stepped just before the blade came crashing down where he just stood. Not having the time to aim another arrow, Mahanon relied on his bow’s sharp, bladed edges to fend off the incoming blows.

The elf was quick, delivering heavy strikes. Mahanon stepped aside, barely blocking. Swinging the sword over his head, the elf’s whole body started to glow. He rushed forward again, this time much faster. The elf slammed into Mahanon, the hilt of the sword smashing into his ribs.

Mahanon tumbled backwards, rolling back onto his feet. He tried to gather his breath, but the elf was already on him again. The sword came down for his head, Mahanon raised his bow just before it would have crushed him. He shoved the blade sideways, but was met with a fist to his face. He fell to the ground, blood seeping from his nose.

A crash from the crates interrupted them as Renold made an attempt to escape. The elf swore, chasing after him. Mahanon jumped up, ready to pursue the glowing elf.

Renold screamed at civilians, pushing and shoving his way through the crowded street. He threw someone off their horse, and raced down an alley. The elf opted for the rooftops. Mahanon watched in confusion as the elf glowed blue, disappeared, and reappeared yards away, continuing his chase.  

“Great,” Mahanon said in frustration.

The anchor buzzed in his hand. He remembered the whisperings from the well, opening his mind to new knowledge of what he could do with the anchor. He sprinted after them. He took a deep breath, throwing his anchor hand out in front of him as it crackled. Like giant jaws, a rift opened, the essence of the fade wisping in tendrils as Mahanon jumped into it. And just as quickly as it had opened, the rift snapped shut. Already adjusted to the abnormalities of the fade, he thrust open another rift, emerging back into the real world, only a few feet behind the elf.

The cracking, chaotic eruption and contraction of the veil caused the elf to whip his head around in confusion, just as Mahanon landed an arrow in his shoulder. He fired another. But the elf quickly disappeared, reappearing again further away. He ripped the arrow out of his armor.

Both jumped atop the houses, strange energies carrying them across great distances. Both glowing. One green, one blue.  Mahanon could see Renold on his stolen horse just ahead, pushing the beast to go faster. The elf, just before Mahanon could reach him again, jumped off the roof, landing ahead of the runaway horse.

In one continued motion, he rolled to his feet, swung his blade forward, and sliced at the horse’s legs. The animal fell forward bellowing in pain, sending Renold flying a few feet away, hitting the ground roughly. The elf approached him, his whole body glowing. The look of pure hatred twisted his face.

“Don’t kill me! I’ll do anything you ask! I swear it!” Renold pleaded as the elf grabbed him.

“Pathetic.” The elf spat in his face. He held Renold by his collar, pinning him against the wall, his blade at his throat. “Where are the refugees?!”

“What?? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Don’t lie to me, slaver! Where are they?!”

“Let go of him.” Mahanon interrupted, pointing an arrow in his direction. The elf didn’t turn. He didn’t even acknowledge the threat. Releasing the arrow, it met its mark, but made a hissing noise as it passed through the glowing elf and bounced off the wall. He was untouched. Mahanon shot another, this time aiming for his chest. Again the arrow went completely through him as if he wasn’t there. Mahanon lowered his bow in shock. Renold screamed as he was roughly tossed to the ground.

“ANSWER ME!” The elf yelled, his tattoos glowing brighter.

Renold sat up and suddenly started to laugh. First quietly, but then his laughter fell into an unnatural tone.

“Pitiful mortals,” a demonic voice emanated from his now twisting body. It changed, morphing long scaly arms and a grotesque, withered head.  An abomination. “You always fall for the smallest of temptations...” it’s voice low and menacing.  

“Venhedis!” the elf hissed. He lunged forward swinging his sword, only to be blown back by the demon. Mahanon started to back away. Shades and other demons emerged from the ground, completely surrounding the two elves. The abomination threw its head back and cackled a horrifying laugh.

“What is it you mortals say? Pride comes before the fall? Feast your eyes on Pride, for it shall be the last thing you see.”

The demons attacked.

The elf swung his blade furiously as shades came from every side. He fought with precision, all the while dodging long claws slashing at him furiously. Mahanon shot at the shades, but for every one he took down, another two would replace them. He could hear the abomination laugh.

“Delightful! Your efforts are quite entertaining.”

“You’ll enjoy this then,” Mahanon mocked as he threw his fist in the air.

The anchor sparked furiously as he disrupted the Veil, ripping open a rift. The weaker shades and demons screamed and shrieked as they were drawn back to the fade against their will. He noticed the elf also fell to the ground, limbs shaking, breathing heavy, somehow affected from the pull of the rift. His tattoos pulsed brightly as he tried to stand unsuccessfully. The abomination, untouched by the disruption, roared in vexation as the last of his minions faded away.

“You think yourself so powerful with the mark on your pathetic skin! I shall show you true power!” The ground started to shake as the demon lifted its hands. Mahanon shot furiously, but tendrils of electricity shielded it, his arrows disintegrating uselessly. The elf slowly got to his feet, clutching his sword.

A giant wave of energy blasted them backwards. They came crashing through a fence and into the side of a rotting shed, the half structure collapsing on top of them. Trapped underneath, Mahanon watched helplessly as the abomination slowly made its way towards them. He wriggled one arm free, trying to escape the decaying wood.

“Others call you Herald, a savior to your kind,” it scoffed, gathering energy in its hand, waving it menacingly. “But I see what you truly are. Frail. Fragile. A wisp in the flow of the world. You think yourself above the rest of your kin, yet you are nothing but a witless worm, crawling on the earth without purpose.” Mahanon struggled to free himself. He could feel deep pulsing in the air as the demon stood before them.

“And you, strange marked one, who remembers not even his own name.” The elf rolled out of the wreckage, blood seeping down his face. He sluggishly searched for his weapon. “What should I say about you? You have nothing, no story worthy enough to tell. Just a tool to be used, someone’s pawn, easily thrown away without any evidence to your existence.”

“Shut up,” the elf spat in annoyance, lifting his sword out of the debris. “You know nothing about me, demon.”  

"On the contrary, I know who you seek. This feeble body was your prize. I have but to speak one word to answer your question." The elf grinded his teeth together, gripping his sword harder.

"You spit nothing but lies, filth."

It chuckled. Suddenly a small voice echoed from the abomination, as if channeled from a distant place.

" _Creators, help me...if you can hear me at all please take me from this place..._ "

The elf clenched his fist, trying to hide his reaction to the female voice. The demon laughed.

Meanwhile, Mahanon had freed his other arm. He pushed against the beams crushing his legs, but was only successful in moving them a couple of inches. He swore under his breath as he pushed with all his might. He didn’t know how much time he had before he would be noticed.

"You see,” the abomination continued. “Even now your friend cries out to gods that will never answer her. In desperation she will give in to my offer, just as this fool did."

“Not if I kill you first,” the elf retorted, raising his sword. In a flash of blue, the elf raced forward. The demon moved quickly, but not fast enough as the tip of the sword sliced into its arm. A piercing shriek erupted as it thrashed in retaliation. Its claw caught the back of the elf’s leg, leaving a deep gash. The elf cried out, his tattoos growing faint as he fell, clutching his leg.

Mahanon finally pushed the remaining beams of wood away. He lay on the ground, trying not to make any sudden movement. He watched as the two engaged each other. The elf looked badly wounded, but still he fought. The demon, now gaining its full strength, battered him relentlessly.

Mahanon thought of leaving them to each other. He watched the elf try to get close enough to bring a blow to the abomination, only to be ruthlessly blown back.

The demon, hiding in its own shield of flesh, would be immune to the anchor. His arrows did no good, and trying to get close enough to strike also seemed impossible. Mahanon weighed his options.

The elf was reacting slower, struggling to lift his weapon. Even his strange abilities seemed to be less effective. All the while the demon was growing stronger. Electrical currents enveloped it’s body, and it sent small bursts of energy to keep the elf at a distance. It laughed and scorned at the elf.

“You cannot hope to bring me down, I am undefeated,” the demon lifted its arms again, causing the ground to shake, only this time powerful waves of deadly electricity gathered in its hands. It laughed menacingly as the elf fell to the ground, clutching his side as blood seeped into his hands.

 The demon fired its charge.

Without thinking, Mahanon jumped up and sprinted towards the elf. He crashed into his side, pushing them into a rift. Mahanon could feel the air crackle as the giant projectile of electricity had just passed them. The rift sealed itself behind them.

The elf started to glow immensely. His limbs shook and his breathing came out in rasps. His tattoos pulsed wildly as they fell in the Fade. Mahanon opened another rift and they tumbled out a few blocks away. Mahanon rolled off the elf, who gasped and shook on the ground.

 “Get up,” He said roughly. The elf just lay there, tattoos glowing, his muscles quivering uncontrollably. “I said get up,” he repeated.

“Fuck off,” the elf replied, slowly rolling to his knees. He coughed up blood.

“It will be back at any moment, and you’ll be dead.” He reached for the elf’s arm, only to be roughly shoved away.

“Don’t touch me!” the elf hissed, grabbing his sword. The sound of explosions echoed in the alley, the abomination destroying the surrounding buildings in its fit of rage. The elf slowly got to his feet.

“Distract it so I can get close enough,” he muttered.

“What good will that do,” Mahanon sneered, crossing his arms in disapproval.  

“Just do it,” the elf snapped before disappearing.

A small house a few feet away blew apart as the demon entered the alley. Mahanon dodged the incoming bolts as he frantically looked around for the elf. Gone. He swore as he shot his arrows, only to have them wither away before reaching their intended target.

“Fool, did you think you could win against me?” the demon bellowed. “I am the power you wish you could wield.”

“I think you’re all talk,” Mahanon taunted. A fury of blows shot at him, he barely missed. The demon continuously threw its bolts at him, sending debris flying everywhere.

Out of nowhere the elf jumped at the demon, slicing his sword through the shield and gouging its ribs. Electricity snaked up the sword and into the elf, repelling him off. He rolled into a heap, slightly smoking.

The demon clutched its side, falling to its knees. It roared in confusion over its injury. Suddenly it expanded its shield so that it covered the entire width of the alley.

“I need to get past that,” the elf spat in frustration. “Get me in there,” he ordered. Mahanon tried to catch his breath.

“What?” Was all he could reply, his breathing heavy.

“Open that portal you used before.”

“You didn’t seem too functional going through it, if I recall,”

The demon got to its feet, charging up another attack. It screeched as loud as it could, putting all its energy into the swelling orb of electricity gathering in its hands.

“Do it now!” the elf yelled.

“Its not that - “

“DO IT!”

Mahanon threw out his fist, using the rest of his energy to open two rifts at once. The elf disappeared into the first rift, just as the demon fired its full energy. He emerged from the second rift behind the giant pulsing shield.  Mahanon fell to his knees, exhausted.

Tattoos ablaze, he swung his sword in a flash, slicing one of its arms off at the elbow. The abomination fell to the ground, shrieking at the top of its lungs. The elf jumped on it, thrusting his whole forearm into its chest, ripping out a withered, but still pumping, heart.

The abomination convulsed wildly before going limp, the wall of crackling energy finally residing. Mahanon stood up.

“Fucking finally,” he mumbled under his breath.

The elf suddenly appeared right beside him, grabbing him by the throat and shoving him to the ground. The tip of his sword pointed right on chest.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you as well,”

“What the fuck! I just helped you,” Mahanon tried to wrestle himself free, but the elf held him fast.

“You were in allegiance with the bastard until he foolishly allowed a demon to possess his body. Why should I let you walk away?”

Just then a group of Inquisition soldiers rounded the corner, followed by Mahanon’s companions. The soldiers immediately drew their weapons at the elf, but Varric stepped between them.

“Fenris?” Varric said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My two elf husbandos <3\. In the same chapter. 
> 
> Part 2 will be up soon!
> 
> Listened to "Roundtable Rival" by Lindsey Stirling. (found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvipPYFebWc)


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